


Delirium

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Alcohol Withdrawal, Book 4: Pawn in Frankincense, Gen, Hangover, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Poisoning, Prison, delerium tremens, the band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2021-01-26 21:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Jerott is having a really bad time. There was the two day journey without booze, the fire at the empty disco, the police misunderstanding...at least Francis is here with a plan to get him out of jail.--Written for Whumptober 2019, set in the Band AU I've been writing (see collections).--There's 31 of these ficlets and I apologise profusely for burying other work in the tags. I will *always* tag these as 'the band au' and you can usethis nifty extension (ao3rdr)to block the tag if this isn't your thing and isn't what you want to see in the Lymond tags!
Kudos: 3
Collections: Ficlets in the Lymond Band AU for Whumptober 2019





	Delirium

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on tumblr, 3 October 2019.](https://notasapleasure.tumblr.com/post/188103674536/whumptober-day-3)

The bench in the prison cell felt like a cliff edge. Even with his eyes closed vertigo pressed down on Jerott's chest, which ached from the smoke of the burning nightclub. There was still cyanide in his hair, the blisters on his arms and torso prickled uncomfortably, and on top of that his body was starting to notice the lack of alcohol. He had travelled for two days, and they were the only two days he had been without a drink since he'd reached the continent.

On the hard surface of the bench his body began to tremble, his teeth chattered and he coughed with a wet feeling in his lungs. Fever smothered him: the room was nearly pitch black, broken by only a hint of light from the little round window in the cell door. It felt to Jerott like it was a space devoid of air and he gasped painfully. In the depths of the night, even with that hallucinatory disc glowing on the other side of the room, he grew confused about whether his eyes were open or closed; he felt as though things were crawling over his skin in the dark and shuddered at the sound of his own whimpers. He would have cried out for them to bring him booze, but he became terrified that if he opened his mouth something would get inside it. Something made of liquid night, that would burrow into him and make him hollow and empty.

Time stretched, and he fought delirium wearily, finally managing to sink into a fitful sleep that brimmed vividly with memories and nightmares.

Dawn barely registered its presence in the drunk tank, and he thought it was some ghoul in his mind that was shaking him, its teeth embedded in his arm, a manifestation of the wounds he had got from the fire, given life by his busy imagination. Jerott tried to turn towards the cold wall. Pain swilled in his skull like water in a bucket: he was not fully conscious when he muttered defensively at whatever kept trying to rouse him. "Awa' 'n' bile yer heid ya howlin' fud, t'es un boudin, un blaireau syphilitique!"

Muffled giggles close to his ear: the shaking paused for a second and Jerott realised that two sets of fingers were gripping his bicep. For the briefest instant, someone's forehead rested on his shoulder, and Jerott felt the other's laughter in his arm.

"My God, Jerott, you didn't learn that language from the sannyasins!"

He opened his mouth to lick dry lips and moved his heavy head towards that glittering voice. Squinting, he managed to identify Francis Crawford's smile, his eyes heavy with relief.

"Francis?" his voice was hoarse; speaking was like inhaling razor blades. "How did you get in here?"

Lymond touched the back of his fingers to Jerott's sticky forehead and pulled a face at what he felt. "Bribery," he answered simply.

He sat back on his haunches and glanced at the heavy door. "We don't have long, but I wanted to tell you how we're getting you out."

Jerott considered sitting up, but a sharp pain in his neck persuaded him it wasn't a good idea. "Can't I just pay bail?"

Another snort of mirth: "Jerott. I don't know what you remember, but you punched an officer of the law. You need to be careful what you say when they finish booking you."

He covered his face with his hands and grimaced at the smell of stale sweat on his body. He didn't remember that part; only that he had been too slow to save what he had gone there to save.


End file.
